Snow-white candles flickered in brass sconces on each end of the apartment’s black-clothed breakfast table. Raising a crystal goblet to her mouth, Evelyn Gorovic let the gilded brim hover on her lips while nook’s bay window she spied the pinnacle of the Washington Monument stab the setting sun. “Look, Basil,” she cried, pointing at the bright star above the bleeding orb, “Venus.”
“Astlik,” Basil Zarkisian corrected, an indulgent smile creasing his unlined face. “Goddess of love and consort to Vahagn, the Armenian Hercules in its pre-Christian mythology.” His smile deepened. “Just like Venus.”
“Oh, Basil,” Evelyn cried, the bottom of her milky throat flushing. “Let’s drink to her then,” she added, covering her embarrassment. “To Astlik,” she toasted, tilting her glass in the star’s direction, before sipping the peach-colored liqueur from her long-stemmed glass.
“Delicious,” she gushed. Too much oak flavor! Careful not to pucker her lips and offend her host, she patted the corners of her mouth with her white cloth napkin and set her goblet beside her finished dinner plate. Seeing Zarkisian had touched neither his liqueur nor the stuffed grape leaves on his plate, she chided. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
Zarkisian’s anthracite eyes sparked with amused fascination. “In my country it’s unseemly for the host to finish before the guest,” he remarked and drained his glass in one swallow. “My pleasure derives from seeing you enjoy the dolma so thoroughly.”
Never heard that excuse before, but it’s always different with Basil. Evelyn shrugged, quaffed the rest of her drink, set the glass on the table, bumping it against her plate as she did. “It went perfectly with the lamb,” she commented while licking the resolute flavor from her lips. Are my cheeks red, too? “What kind of sherry is it?”
Zarkisian regarded her reaction over the apex of his conjoined palms. “That wasn’t sherry,” he corrected. “It was Armenian cognac. From the vineyards of Ararat province in eastern Turkey—my homeland. Remember?” he explained. Grabbing the bottle neck, he filled his glass. “I’m glad you like it,” he added with a wolfish grin, the lip of the bottle hovering over Evelyn’s glass. “Shall we toast also our reunion?”
What does he mean by that? Evelyn peered into the depths of Basil’s brooding gaze. He wants something despite behaving like a gentleman all evening—dammit! “Why not?” she agreed, tipped the brim of her glass forward, and frowned. Remember you have to drive home tonight. “But just a little.”
To her alarm he filled her glass. “That’s enough,” she declared and pulled her glass away, some of her drink sloshing on the tablecloth. Noting the pained look on his face, she chuckled to lighten the mood, “One would think you’re trying to get me drunk.” Seeing Basil’s expression remained unchanged, she added in a more wistful tone than she intended, “You are, aren’t you?”
“My dear Ms. Gorovic,” Zarkisian responded, plunging the cork back into the sea-green bottle. “It’s most ungracious of you to say that.” He set the bottle next to the spill on the tablecloth and smiled until his silvery bearded face resembled a jovial satyr’s. “Believe me, as you Americans say, you wouldn’t have to guess if I was.”
“I suppose not,” Evelyn agreed and raised her glass to her lips, flushing as much from the impact of the peach elixir as from Zarkisian’s gentle rebuttal. “I’ve never heard of Armenian cognac,” she mused. “How did you manage to procure such a liqueur?”
“I maintain some connections in the Middle East from our time in Kuwait,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. His crimson lips hardened to a straight line. “Aren’t you wondering why I invited you here tonight?”
“Yes,” Evelyn admitted and her blush deepened. “But we were having such a good time, I entirely forgot,” she added with a smile she hoped was disarming. Sensing the sudden radiance emanating from him, she chided, “Are you suggesting our rendezvous is part of some grand conspiracy?”
Zarkisian’s eyes sparked; his jawline hardened. “Nothing grand I assure you,” he said, composing himself. “Nor a conspiracy, either. But anything that has to do with our daughter’s well-being is important to me.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked, setting aside her glass. All her senses raged with alarm. Our daughter? He’s never asked about Miriam’s well-being before. “Is she in some kind of danger?”
End Part 1